


missed connections; a short story in two parts

by animediac



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Missed Connections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 21:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animediac/pseuds/animediac
Summary: i and ii





	missed connections; a short story in two parts

**Author's Note:**

> this is my haikyuu secret santa piece for @itsalwaysmiyukikazuya on tumblr!

i.

 

Oikawa Tooru is not a narcissistic man. Some may argue, and bring up points that are very true, but if he was, he would not have stepped foot out of his cluttered apartment looking like  _ this.  _

 

He knows that Masukawa will give him no pity over his raging hangover, half done coursework and his ratty volleyball gear, but in his defence, there was no way he was going to skip out on the old Karasuno captains party. Even if it did result in him being followed by Tobio the entire night and almost missing this train. 

 

Puffing out a breath, he leans his back against the edge of the train doors, the movement of the train already shaking the carriage; the vibrations run through his knee and he shifts his weight to the other leg. Looking up from where his hands rest on his thighs, he notes that all of the seats in the carriage are taken up, and he breathes out a disappointed noise.

 

He’s not the first person to be out of a seat, if the occupied handles along the length of the train are any indication, and he makes to grab onto one, as the others swing from the rocking movement caused by the juts in the city's rail system. He digs into the pocket of his old volleyball hoodie for his phone, only to come up empty, hands grasping at nothing. Of course he left it on the table. And for the record, he’s forgotten to wash off the hot pink nail polish applied by a drunk Nishinoya Yuu and a slightly more sober Yachi. 

 

He shoves a hand back into the front pocket, fiddling and picking with the polish, if only to have something to do. The darkness outside the train as it races through a tunnel disappears suddenly, and Oikawa blinks suddenly as he’s hit with the beaming rays of the morning sun, glowing over the tops of Tokyo’s skyscrapers and the colourful billboards of Harajuku. All of a sudden it’s gone, the train disappearing into another tunnel, and with one hand on the carriages handles, he lifts his right leg in order to alleviate the pressure, taking his hand from the pocket in order to absentmindedly rub at the joint. He knows that if Matsukawa were here, his hand would be swatted away, with an added bonus of a sharp word about it ‘not healing’. Boo hoo. He’s made it this far on his leg, it won’t fail him now, will it?

 

Apparently it will, and at this point he’s sure the universe is out to get him, as when the train makes a relatively sharp turn (he should have known it was coming,  _ he takes this track every day _ ) balancing on one leg becomes a terrible decision, and he barely stays upright as one leg crumples and his other hand flies up to grasp the handle of the strap. He’s left hanging onto it for fear of collapsing and/or sliding down the length of the carriage, and neither of those options sound appealing to him. 

 

The train straightens out onto a smoother stretch of track, and he regains his balance, although his pride is severely wounded, especially with the few people who’s gazes are still lingering on him.

 

He straightens himself up, trying to recover his dignity, and grips onto the handle with white knuckles and an assuring smile for the women with a bouquet of flowers crushed between them, who look at him in worry.

 

_ Well, that could have gone better _ , he admonishes himself, running a hand through his hair (there’s no way this’ll make it look worse) and becomes increasingly more aware of how sore his knee is, and how far away the next stop is. 

 

“Hey.”

 

Oikawa turns abruptly to see another student pushing up from where he’s seated, standing to grab his bag. When he turns to face Oikawa, the brunette is able to see that he’s about his own age, with dark hair and tanned skin. 

 

“Take the seat. I can’t stand watching you fall over all the time, it’s irritating.”

 

Blinking at the backhanded concern, Oikawa makes to argue with him, a flurry of ‘no it’s okay’ and ‘it’s your seat’.

 

With a huff, the dark-haired boy slings his bag onto his back (huh, its a godzilla charm) and nudges Oikawa’s chest with a hand. “Just take the goddamn seat.”

 

Oikawa decides that he’s not going to argue further, so he plops down in the seat, arms crossed like the world's tallest toddler. Seemingly satisfied with his cooperation, the other man moves to take the strap that Oikawa has been holding onto previously. 

 

“..Thanks” Oikawa tells him, and gets a grunt in response. The train breaks out of another tunnel, and the light behind the buildings isn’t quite so blinding this time. 

 

At the next stop, the automated voice announces the station, and Oikawa watches the other walk off, stepping to let a grade schooler past. 

 

And just like that, he’s gone. 

 

Letting out an odd sigh, Oikawa slumps back into the seat, and watches the screen for his next stop. It’s 9:30 already and classes started at 9. Matsukawa’s going to have a fit. 

 

(when he finally makes it back to his apartment that night, he’s hesitant, but brings up an anonymous advert website. he’s quick to click off the laptop once he’s done, and he makes sure that his phone is within grab distance of his bag this time.)

  
  


ii.

 

Iwaizumi Hajime has not had a good day so far, and with the fact that it’s only nine AM should clue you in to  _ just how terrible _ it’s already been. 

 

The incessant buzzing of his phone from emails (most likely than not a few being a notice for his history seminar being cancelled for the third time) doesn’t help his mood at all, and he ends up turning the device off completely, jamming the offending object into the side pocket of his bag. 

 

With a scowl, he turns to the doors as they open in Ikebukuro station, letting in a steady stream of people, who take up seats and handles. It starts up again, and a few hopefuls leap through the closing doors as it begins to move.

 

One in particular, a student, leans against the closed doors, chest heaving. He watches as he grabs onto a strap, searches his pockets for something, and then slumps. At this point Iwaizumi turns away, and back to..whatever he was doing before.

 

With his phone in his bag, he turns to the adverts playing on the screen above the map of the train lines. A woman in a shrimp costume advertises an instant noodle brand he recognises from the numerous all-nighters in his dorm, and an all-female J-pop group tries to sell him hair products that he knows for  _ a fact  _ that Hanamaki owns, however hidden he tries to keep them. 

 

The adverts are wonderfully mind-numbing for a while, as his thoughts drift, until he ends up thinking about the paper due in a week and the blank word document accompanying it. If anything, that makes his mood worse, and he abandons his technology purge, brig ad it may have been. He makes sure to mute his emails, leaving the only notifications the ones from his personal contact list, re; Hanamaki and his teammates. 

 

Open to a random social media, he scrolls through the feed of text and images, a few from Yamaguchi (a younger student in his team at the university) detailing a party behind his grinning expression. He notes a few players from other universities, before it’s lost in an onslaught of new posts from a classmate attempting to get help from someone on their pre-med course. 

 

His attention is abruptly caught when the train hits a quick turn, the hanging straps swinging wildly and his bag sliding down past him before he grabs it. 

 

By far though, the most spectacularly unfortunate event he’s seen happen to day (which even outpaces some of the things that have happened to him that morning) goes to the student he’s seen previously leaning against the closed train doors. 

 

Iwaizumi would laugh if he didn’t notice the other guys wincing, as his leg crumples under him like paper and he collapses, though not without trying valiantly to stay upright, grasping onto the handle. He’s caused quite the commotion, and Hajime isn’t the only one staring at him with either worry, curiosity, or pure hilarity at the series of events. 

 

Straightening up, the messy haired passenger gives a grin and a wave to two women over the other side of the train carriage, before making a pained face as he puts more weight on his leg. 

 

Iwaizumi is no doctor (even if he’s trying to be) but years of volleyball training and watching matches has taught him what a sprain looks like, and that’s a bad one, if any. 

 

Sighing a little in disappointment at leaving his seat, he picks up his bag and moves to push himself up, bringing attention to himself by calling for the other student. 

 

“Hey,” he says, already out of his seat, and watches the brown haired guy whip around and  _ huh he’s wearing nail polish.  _

 

Standing up straight to meet his eyes, in typical Iwaizumi fashion, he disguises concern in an insult, swinging his bag onto his back.

 

“Take the seat. I can’t stand watching you fall over all the time, it’s irritating.”

 

The other guy looks ready to put up an argument, and he does, but Iwaizumi is far too tired for this, and is far too fed up with the flurry of affirmations that ‘it’s fine, it’s fine’.

 

“Just take the goddamn seat” he growls, nudging him in the chest in an effort to keep him in place and into the seat. 

 

It works, somehow, and he sits down onto the padded, worn seat of the carriage, crossing his arms as he does so. 

 

Stepping away, Iwaizumi grabs the previously occupied strap, and hears a reluctant ‘thanks’ come from the other student. He grunts in response, uninvested, and watches as the train whips out from the tunnel it had been running through for a little while, unveiling the morning sun rising over the city. 

 

Checking his watch for the third time these past fifteen minutes, he sees the hand about to hit ten, and his terrible morning comes back in full force. 

 

As soon as the annoying automated voice announces his station;  _ ‘Approaching Shibuya station’ _ ; he’s out of there, moving as fast as possible while also avoiding the hordes of people. 

 

He’s quick to forget his train ride, as the days' events pile up, and it’s pushed to the back of his mind as he’s yelled at by his professor when he reaches his second seminar half an hour late. 

 

When he receives a message from Hanamaki the next day with a link to an online advertisement (because his roommate is the type of person to scroll through these things instead of  _ actually doing his work) _ he opens it, if only to humor the other sleep-depriveded student. He’s not expecting much, probably just Hanamaki trying to hook him up with another poor soul, but what he is greeted with is a lot better. 

 

_ to the guy who offered me his seat after watching me hang onto a train strap for dear life.  _

  
  



End file.
